I Think of You
by arrowsandangels
Summary: Set in the prison. Beth isn't a child anymore. She's begun thinking about Daryl, and he's noticing her. Rated M, mostly for my own thoughts.


**A short little something to give you a jump on the weekend. Enjoy!**

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Did you know I think of you? In the morning, when I'm helping Carol with the laundry. It isn't the steam from the water we boiled that causes my face to flush as I am bending over the scrubbing tubs. I scramble to grab your clothes. Leaning close to the tubs, obscuring my actions from prying eyes, I press your clothes to my face. I want to smell them. To smell you in them. I think of you wearing them, and imagine you taking them off before I plunge them into the soapy water. Yes, I think of you in the morning.

I think of you at lunch. Bouncing little Judith on my knee, spooning her smushed pears, wiping her chubby cheeks. When I look at her, I imagine I'm holding a little one who looks like you. A little Merle or Annette. And when I snuggle her close, I make up silly, sweet little songs to whisper in her ear. And think of what I would like to do with you. Things which are not silly or sweet at all. Things which would make her daddy blush. Oh yes, I think of you when I'm holding little Judith.

After lunch, as I'm popping walkers through the fence, I think of you Mr. Dixon. I pretend you're teaching me how to take out walkers. I remember the time you showed me how to stab them in the forehead, right between the eyes. You stood so close to me, your body slightly bumping into mine. One hand guiding mine. And one hand on my hip. Encouraging me to step forward into it, to let my weight do the hard work. Do you remember what a slow learner I was? Did you wonder how it was that a smart girl like me could take so long figuring it out? Or did you know that I was so distracted by your closeness that I literally couldn't hear the words coming out of your mouth? I remember that day. I remember the feel of your hot breath on my neck. And your hand on my hip. Every time I kill a walker, I think of you.

When I play with Carl, I think of you. After all this time, Carl still likes to follow me around. He thinks he's a big man. Carrying that big ass gun. Wearing his daddy's hat. In the moments before dinner, when everyone else is washing up, we play silly games. And I pretend he is you. I flirt with him shamelessly. So, it's no wonder then, that he follows me. Drools over me. Wants to be my boyfriend, even if he would never say that out loud. And all the while, as we chase each other around the yard, I'm thinking of you. Sometimes I slow down, I almost let him catch me. If it was really you behind me, I would definitely let you catch me. In fact, I would turn around and catch you, Mr. Dixon.

Daryl! Pay attention to me. I'm 20 years old now. I'm a woman. I have the body and needs of a woman. And I'm thinking of you. At night, when I undress for bed, I wonder if you ever think of me. Sliding my jeans slowly down my legs. Pulling my tank off over my head. When I crawl into my bed, I think of you. I think of your delicious arms and wonder how they would feel wrapped around me. I dream of your eyes, how they pierce me. They seem to cut to my soul, and yet... They don't really see me. I think of you as I climb into bed at night.

And, I think of you in the middle of the night. Sometimes, when the moon is high, I walk past your cell. I stop at your door. I think about stepping inside, to see if you sleep naked. I think about dropping my night clothes to the floor and climbing in bed with you, to find out. Surprising you. And I wonder what you would do. How it would feel to have your lips pressed against mine. To taste your mouth. To fill my nose with your scent. To have your hands on my body. And more. I'm a woman now, Mr. Dixon. And tonight, I'm thinking of you.

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Little girls shouldn't be out in the woods alone, Beth. And yet, here you are. Pushing your way into my consciousness. In the silence, as I drawback and sight the squirrel, suddenly here you are. Blinding me. Filling me with images of you bent over the catch. Elbow deep in squirrel guts and blood. A trickle of sweat running down the middle of your back. Pinning your hair to the nape of your neck. My eyes trace down along the damp ribbon gluing your flimsy top to you. And I can tell that you have nothing on underneath it. I know I should turn away. But my eyes betray me. Settling on a bit of exposed white skin just above your hip. Just this memory forces me to bite my lower lip to keep from panting. Scaring all the game away. Damn, I took too long. The squirrel is gone. And I am going to hell for what I'm thinking.

In the watchtower. Staring out at the tree line. Watching for whatever may show up. And here you are, haunting me. The only thing I'm not prepared for. A hint of you drifting in on the breeze. The wind mimicking your soft voice. Trailing across my face, causing me to search the horizon for you. I'm sure I see your hair. Those golden strands that put the sun to shame, floating in the distance. Between the trees. It is all I can do to not chase down the stairs, across the yard, and into the woods. To find you. Walkers be damned. The only thing I want to see is you. And I am so going to hell for what I am thinking right now.

Sitting in the yard, muscles aching. Carol standing behind me, good-naturedly massaging the knots in my shoulders and neck. Her fingers digging into the tight muscles on the sides of my neck. Then working their way across my shoulders. A contented groan escapes my lips, drawing a sigh of pleasure from Carol. She's pleased with my response to her treatment of my sore muscles. I wonder what she would say if she knew I was imagining it was you standing behind me. That it was your fingers, your long, slender fingers, on my neck. My shoulders. Working their way down my back. I imagine tipping my head back into the crest of your breasts as you massage my arms. Your fingers combing through my hair, your lips lightly brushing against my forehead. And how I'd like to massage you. In the privacy of your cell. If it was really you, I wouldn't still be sitting here. You wouldn't still be standing there. We'd be headed for your cell. And I am so going to hell for what I am thinking right now.

As the day fades into night, we pull together as a group. Gathering in the common room. Of course, you are here. As our sagging spirits spill out into the room, your voice begins to rise. Your singing fills the room, it fills me. Pulling down the ceiling, and shattering my walls. I feel open and exposed. As if you can read my every thought. My desire naked in front of you. I can feel the heat rise in my groin as your voice washes over me. I am so going to hell for what I am thinking right now.

You're back. Little girls shouldn't hang around a grown man's room in the dark, Beth. And yet, here you are. You're not a little girl anymore. I hear you in the hall, standing outside my cell. Your breathing heavy, ragged. I can feel your hesitation. I can taste your desire. I can smell your arousal. And I know you want to come in. Or is it that I want you so much. I want to see your fingers pull back my curtain. Your thin frame gliding into my room, into my bed. To feel your fingertips trace the tattoo on my chest. In the darkness, I can almost see the curve around your middle and under your breasts. Feel the softness behind your knee. I want your hands on me and my lips on you. Every part of you. And I am so going to hell for what we're going to do right now.

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 **xoxo**

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